


constant as the northern star

by ghostofgatsby



Series: I'd kill for you. I'd die for you. I'd live for you. [19]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Camping, Coping, Fae & Fairies, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Majestic Horse Smith, Multi, Outdoor Sex, S'mores, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7899781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Smith wakes to a shaking bed and an over-excited gargoyle. The mattress is sliding back and forth in the bedframe like an earthquake has started in the room.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>He regretfully peeks his eyes open. Ross is shaking the bed by the footboard, with his hands pushed under the mattress to get a good grip.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>“Smith, wake up! We’re going camping today!”</em>
</p><p> <em>“I don't want to go back…” he sighs loud enough for only Trott to overhear, “but I have to.”</em></p><p>Or, Smith and the rest of the Garbage Court go camping, and despite this being a vacation for everyone, there are things they hold onto that don't quite disappear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	constant as the northern star

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Three and Leon for giving this an early encouraging read-through.
> 
> I have very, very, very, very mixed feelings about this, because it could be better. But I'm sick of working on it! Onto the better stuff after this! May it prove much more well-done.
> 
> cw: sex. bad horse-fucking jokes. neither of which are in the same scene.  
> mention of drowning/dead bodies, mention of scars, brief mention of blood and bloodstained clothing. very minor depressive mood, but it's mostly shown as unease/uncertainty/agitation. there isn't much of that. it's more implied than anything.  
> If I need to tag something else, let me know.
> 
> reblog link: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/08/29/constant-as-the-northern-star-ghostofgatsby
> 
> playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/ghostofgatsby/playlist/4F3lNAetIxmUlB8uKrzW4T  
> tracklist: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/08/28/for-always-playlist/
> 
> “I am constant as the northern star,  
> Of whose true-fixed and resting quality  
> There is no fellow in the firmament.”  
> (Julius Caesar, act 3, scene 1)

Smith wakes to a shaking bed and an over-excited gargoyle. The mattress is sliding back and forth in the bedframe like an earthquake has started in the room.

He regretfully peeks his eyes open. Ross is shaking the bed by the footboard, with his hands pushed under the mattress to get a good grip.

“Smith, wake up! We’re going camping today!” Ross says excitedly. He grins at Smith’s grumpy expression.

Smith closes his eyes again and rolls over to bury his head in the pillows. “’s too fucking early, go back to sleep,” he slurs. It’s dark in the room, but the birds are awake. He hears chirping outside the window.

“ _Come on_ , Smith.” Ross pleads. “You said yourself we’d have to drive early enough to get there before dusk. Trott and Sips are up already. Let’s go! Come on!”

The bed shakes again.

Smith groans. “Fuck off, Ross. Trott and Sips can suck a fucking dick.”

He hears Trott’s chuckle come from the direction of the closet.

“Nobody’s going to suck you off with that attitude, Smith,” Trott says. There’s a sound of shifting fabric as the selkie gets dressed.

“I’m gonna take my attitude, Trott, and shove it up your ass.” Smith growls in annoyance.

“You sound like a bear.”

“Your mom sounds like a bear,” he says through his teeth.

Trott snorts. Smith knows without seeing that the selkie’s rolling his eyes.

Now that Smith is a little more conscious, he can hear Sips singing Foreigner in the shower. Smith sighs into the sheets. If he can let himself relax again...maybe...

“ _Smith_ ,” Ross whines. The bed shakes again, rocking Smith back and forth uncomfortably.

Smith grinds his teeth. “Fuck’s sake, Ross... _fuck off_ , you bloody ray of sunshine!”

“The sun’s not up yet.”

“Exactly! Fuck you!”

Ross sighs. The bed dips in protest as he crawls up, hovering on his hands and knees over Smith. He pries the sheets free from over Smith’s head and kisses him awake. He kisses the back of his neck and the lines of his naked shoulders, and flips a whining Smith onto his back.

Smith moans softly at the cool touch of Ross’ marble skin. Ross’ hand caresses his cheek before sliding around the back of his neck. His fingers twine through Smith’s hair.  
Smith relaxes as Ross kisses him harder. The gargoyle’s lips are gentle and sure, but insistent...his hands smooth across Smith’s shoulders and down his chest.

Trott yanks the sheets away when Smith’s sufficiently distracted.

Smith squawks in protest.

“Wakey wakey, sunshine,” Trott says with a smile. He pats Smith’s thigh and leaves the bedroom to make his morning cup of tea.

Ross sits back on his haunches and laughs quietly. “Sorry, Smith. You’ll thank me later.”

“I’m cold now.” Smith complains with a frown. He regretfully sits up and runs a hand through his errant bed-head.

Ross pecks a kiss to his jaw. “Wanna go jump Sips in the shower?” he asks, kissing Smith’s cheek and the side of his nose. “I hear it’s a good way to warm up.”

A slow grin works it’s way across Smith’s face. “He did say he wanted to know what love is...” The kelpie drawls, sleepily nuzzling Ross’ cheek before he kisses him back. “We might as well show him a thing or two.”

 

Smith and Ross’ mischievous grins are blurred in the steam-fogged mirror as they nudge open the bathroom door. The off-key singing of their mortal king floats up into the hot, humid air. His silhouette is visible past the shower curtain, and the two fae share a look as they shed their clothes.

Smith wrenches the shower curtain aside. Sips yelps in surprise mid-lyric, with one hand in half-shampooed hair and the other scrubbing his back with a loofa on a stick.

“Hey Sips, mind if we join the naked party?” Smith asks as he and Ross butt their way into the shower.

“Ross is always having a naked party.” Sips says with a wry smile and a roll of his eyes. “And I don’t think you’ll both fit in this shower with me, but sure.”

“Ooh, I’ll make us fit alright, ya kinky bastard.”

“‘Course you will, Smiffy. You going to make me a drink, if this is a party? Or are you going to dance for me?”

Sips rinses out his hair as they crowd together, Smith in front and Ross behind Sips.

“Who said this was _your_ party?” Smith snarks back with a smirk.

Sips raises his eyebrow. “Isn’t it?” He looks over his shoulder at Ross, who shrugs.

“So what’s the occasion, Kermit?” Sips asks. He sets his loofa-stick aside on the edge of the tub. “My birthday was a few months back. Today ain’t any holiday I celebrate.”

“Hm, you know, I’m not sure...Ross, do you know?”

“I don’t think we had an occasion decided. But I can’t remember, anyway,” Ross replies. His hands cradle Sips’ hips, wiping stray soap suds from his skin.

Smith grins and moves closer into Sips’ personal space. He cards his fingers through the mortal king’s wet hair. “I think the occasion was that we wanted to celebrate your fantastic ass, Sips.”

Sips laughs, leaning back into Ross’ chest and tilting his head towards Smith’s hand. “Holy shit, really? It must be my lucky day.”

Smith’s hand slides down the nape of Sips’ neck. “You think so?” he murmurs, stepping closer and brushing his lips against Sips’ cheek.

“Must be. Though it’s gotta be said,” Sips gives Smith’s ass a wet smack and winks. “I rather like _yours_ , Smiffy.”

Smith grins and kisses him. Sips’ arms come around his waist, pulling him closer until they’re pressed skin to skin. The hot water teases on Smith’s lower back, contrast to the cooler air outside the spray. He knows by the sigh against his lips that Ross is kissing along Sips’ neck.

Smith pulls back to watch them kiss for a few minutes. Ross’ wide, pale hands caress Sips’ chest and hips, over the scar on his shoulder and through the hair trailing past his belly button. Sips hooks an arm around Ross’ neck. He pants against his mouth when one of the gargoyle’s hands trails further and wraps around his cock.

Smith smiles and searches for the lube among the gray, white, and black bottles of hair products on the shower shelf. He grabs a brightly colored blue bottle, and mistakenly knocks a few containers over in the process. The plastic clatters loudly onto the drain. Smith triple checks that yes, it’s lube, before squirting a worthy amount onto his fingers.

_“Why are bubbles coming out of your-”_

_“You did not-”_

_“Guess your hole is squeaky clean now, Trott.”_

Smith laughs and winces at the memory. Trott had been _pissed_. He flicks his wet hair out of his face (he really needed it cut soon) and looks back over to Ross and Sips.

Sips watches him with his head tilted to the side. Ross sucks a bruise into the side of Sips’ neck, as his hand moves languidly up and down the mortal king’s dick.

Smith gives Sips a lewd grin. “Wanna get fucked?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows and rubbing his fingers together.

Sips leans back in Ross’ arms and plants his left foot in the dip of Smith’s hip. “If you’d do the honors, Smiffy, I could be persuaded.” He smirks.

Ross lifts Sips up by his hips. Smith guides the mortal king’s legs over his shoulders, and leans in to kiss him. He brings his fingers down to Sips’ entrance. They kiss fervently, while water runs down Smith’s back, and he gently curls his fingers inside of Sips.

Smith breaks the kiss to laugh into Sips’ collarbones. “You wanna fuck him, Ross?” he asks, and Ross muffles a curse in Sips’ hair.

“Fuck yeah,” he replies, “Help me lift him. He’s fucking slippery.”

“Eel boyyyy. _Slimy!_ ” Smith says through his teeth.

Sips chuckles and clings to his shoulders. “You better not fucking drop me, Smiffy. I’ll sue your ass.”

“You fucking love my ass, Sips, don’t lie. You said so earlier.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t sue it for being so damn fuckable.”

Smith laughs.

Ross murmurs something against Sips’ ear, and Sips chuckles back.

“Come on, Ross, fuck, we haven’t got all day!” He lets out a low moan as Ross carefully slides inside him and starts fucking him in earnest.

Smith shifts his hands on Sips’ wet body. He watches Ross fuck him, and licks his lips.

Sips’ head is tilted back against Ross’ chest. Both their eyes are closed. Their dark hair is plastered wetly to their heads. Water runs in rivulets down Sips’ chest, across his dark chest hair, and clings in the lines of his hips.

Ross’ tail coils around Smith’s ankle. The blue glass is dark and shining. Beautiful and deadly. It almost seems to sparkle, and that makes Smith laugh. Even Ross’ dick is gorgeous as it fucks into Sips. Smith can’t help but watch, enraptured. He shifts his grip and moves in closer to wrap a hand around Sips’ dick.

“Fuck-” Sips stutters. His skin is flushed bright pink from the heat of the shower and his arousal. Ross behind him is just as pale as he was when he walked in. Both let out quiet pants and muttered curses.

Smith leans in and kisses Sips sensually. The kelpie is unable to resist the pull of them. He’s half hard at the sight, but he wants to see them both come undone more than he wants to get off right now.

Their features look even more angular and sculpted in the lighting. Their movements are slow and unhurried. Smith could watch them forever like this; he wants to lick the water from their skin.

Ross chokes a moan into Sips’ neck. “Smith-”

“Come on, Ross,” Smith murmurs wantonly.

“Fuck, _Sips-_ ” Ross groans, hips stuttering into climax.

Smith kisses Ross over Sips’ shoulder. He speeds up the movement of his hand on Sips’ dick as Ross’ hips still.

Sips sighs breathily against his cheek. “Fucking shit, _fuck_ ,” he curses, squeezing his eyes shut. He groans quietly as Smith tumbles him over the edge.

Smith goes back and forth between kissing each of them. He and Ross lower Sips’ legs to the shower floor, and they lean together in the now somewhat-warmth of the shower spray.

The sound of pounding on the bathroom door makes the three of them jump.

“Are you guys fucking in the shower _again?_ You’re using up all the hot water!” Trott calls.

“Worth it,” Sips pants, eyes half-lidded.

Smith smiles and looks over Sips’ shoulder at Ross, dripping wet with his hair plastered to his forehead. His horns stand out more like this; they’re more obvious.

“Ross, why don’t you go make Trott feel better about being left out,” he says quietly, reaching up to run his fingers through the gargoyle’s hair.

“Not sure we could fit Trott in here,” Ross hums.

“I don’t know, maybe on his knees?” Smith teases.

Sips chuckles lowly. “Trott would rather see _you_ on your knees.”

“That he would, the kinky bugger.”

Sips moves away from Ross and towards Smith as the former exits the shower. They hear thuds of footsteps leaving the bathroom, and a muffled squawk of Ross’ name from the kitchen. Ross probably decided to forgo a towel and use a selkie to dry off instead.

Smith turns away from Sips for a moment, tilting his face towards the shower spray. He lets the water run down his face and neck, and shoulders and chest. His arousal dissipates. It isn’t a bad thing. If he really wanted to get off, his court would oblige wholeheartedly. But now that he’s awake...there are other things on his mind than a quick fuck, believe it or not.

Sips moves in close and wraps his arms around Smith’s middle. He layers kisses across the kelpie’s water-slick shoulders.

“Alright there, Smiffy?” Sips nuzzles his cheek, stubble scratchy.

“Yeah. I’m good.” He straightens his posture and turns to drape himself in Sips’ arms. “Very good, actually.” Isn’t he?

“ _Good_.” Smith can hear the smirk in his voice. “Big day, after all, eh?”

Smith hums back in affirmation. He melts into Sips’ gentle touch.

Sips runs his fingers through the hair at the nape of Smith’s neck.

Smith kisses him gently. “We should probably get out of the shower, before Trott-”

“For fuck’s sake, I can hear the hot water bill going up!” Trott shouts from the hallway as if summoned. “Either _shower_ , or get out!”

Smith and Sips laugh. They can hear Ross making mocking _ka-ching_ noises on the other side of the wall.

“Alright...out we get.” Sips sighs. He lets go of Smith and shivers, goosebumps rising on his skin as he steps out of the shower. “Where’s my marble space heater gone to?”

Smith stands in the shower for a few moments. The water is quickly cooling, but he backs up under the spray and lets the water pressure cascade down his back. He quickly washes up, and shuts off the tap when he’s finished.

He almost expects to see pale lifeless limbs when he peels back the shower curtain, but he’s thankful that he doesn’t. There’s a clean towel waiting for him on the sink counter.

Smith dries himself off, smiling in the mirror and tousling his wet hair. The smell of bacon wafts through the open door. He can hear Sips and Trott talking in the kitchen, and the spattering sounds of Ross frying something in a pan. The bedroom is dark. It’s still way too early yet, but he finds himself surprisingly looking forward to their trip today.

Towel around his waist, Smith leaves the bathroom and rejoins his court where he belongs.

 

* * *

 

Trott walks around the outside perimeter of the apartment. checking the glyphs that keep the threshold tethered. He doesn’t find any cracks or gaps in the foundation, or any wear in the gutters or drainpipes. It’s a good sign. His magic should hold for the few days they’d be gone.

The grey morning light makes the street seem sleepy. The sun is on it’s way, but it hasn’t yet arrived, and the dim streetlamps cast shadows in pillars down the street. On his walk, Trott passes the garbage can they incinerate bloody clothes in. The metal is blackened to a crisp, but he can still picture bloodstained beach towels, shoes, and t-shirts in it. And the bloodstained pizza box Smith brought home weeks ago.

 _All failures on my part_ , Trott thinks. He shakes his head to dispel the mood, trying not to fall into that train of thought. Today isn’t about that.

Trott rounds the front corner of the apartment building and sighs heavily. Smith is loading up their things into the trunk of his car.

Trott picks up the last of their backpacks resting on the porch, hefts them over his shoulders, and walks over to Smith.

“Careful you don’t swallow a fly, sunshine,” Trott chides good-naturedly.

Smith finishes yawning and flips Trott off. He rubs his eyes of his remaining tiredness and helps Trott load their camping equipment.

"You sure you want to drive?" Trott asks Smith, handing him the bags one at a time. “You don’t look like you got a full eight hours of rest.”

Smith shoves a backpack into the back corner of the trunk. “It's fine, Trott. I’ll get us there in one piece.” His green eyes meet Trott’s as he takes the next bag from his hands.

Trott can see the restlessness in them, the wary look he’s had anytime they drive around. But there’s also a look of something Trott hasn’t seen since they first arrived in the city. Unbridled enthusiasm for a new adventure.

“Alright then.” Trott smiles. He leans in and kisses Smith until he feels the kelpie smile back against his lips. When the kiss breaks, Smith turns away and clears more space.

The apartment door opens and shuts behind them. Trott turns around as Sips strolls up to the car, with Ross not far behind.

“Let’s hit the road, Jack,” Sips says, swinging around the car to get in the front passenger seat. He totes a bag of snacks in one hand, and a thermos of coffee in the other. He pops open the door and sits down with a heavy sigh. Trott hears the telltale clicking of the seat being pushed back.

Ross carries the cooler over. The bottles, ice, and food crash about inside it. “Who the fuck is Jack?” the gargoyle asks. He hefts the cooler into the trunk, next to their camping equipment and lawn chairs.

“Nobody,” Trott answers him, “It’s a figure of speech.” He pushes away from the car and walks back up the short stretch of sidewalk towards the apartment. “I’m going to lock up, and then we’ll leave.”

Smith double checks what they have, peering into the trunk and running through his mental list before he closes the lid. ”Is that the last of it?” he asks Ross, looking up at him.

Ross is drawing dicks in the morning condensation on the car’s back windshield.

“Ross!”

Ross grins, tail swishing from side to side behind him.

“Yeap, that's everything,” he says excitedly, “We going now?”

Smith groans. “Yes. Fuck you.”

Trott walks back, and Smith gestures at the windscreen with a look.

The selkie raises an eyebrow. His stern tone is made ineffective by the smile crossing his face. “Don’t give me that look, sunshine, _you_ probably taught him that.”

Ross laughs.

“I’ll teach _you two_ a lesson about dicks later, you filthy bastards.” Smith snarks, swiping the condensation off with his hand. He wipes his wet hand off on Ross’ shirt.

Sips sticks his head out the window and whistles at them. “Are we going, or are you three going to waffle about some more?”

“I’ll waffle _you_ if you know what I mean!” Smith says through his teeth.

“Is this another one of those weird water fae things?”

“Fuck off!”

Sips adjusts the hat on his head and laughs.

The three fae get in the car. Smith starts the engine, and Sips fiddles with the radio until he finds a throwback eighties station. Smith cranks up the stereo and drives.

 

They drive for a few hours. There’s a visible change in Smith when they leave the city. He’s more relaxed, more awake, more at ease to banter with Sips and the others.

Trott watches from the backseat in between reading his book. The sun is rising over the horizon, casting pale blue into the sky and lighting the road with a golden glow. Trott turns off his reading light clipped onto the cover of his book, and the seashell charm on the end jingles softly. He knew venturing out into the countryside to go camping would be a good break for all of them, but he didn’t know how much Smith would visibly show it.

He looks...better. Out in the light of day, the shadows under his eyes disappear. There’s a small smile on his face instead of a frown. He isn’t gripping the wheel like he’s terrified of himself.

Trott just hopes it’s not a facade. He knows this entire thing with Smith won’t be easy...but he hopes, at the very least, this helps.

Smith tosses his head back, laughing at something Sips said. The red coloring in his hair shines in the rising sun.

Trott smiles softly, and goes back to reading his book.

 

Sips stretches in his seat, cracking his back audibly and groaning. “Pull over at the next rest stop. I gotta piss, and I need to stretch my legs.”

“Can we get more snacks? There’ll be vending machines, right?” Ross pipes up.

“Ross, we have snacks already!”

“You can never have too many options, Smiffy. Pull off.”

Smith grits his teeth. “Ooh, that’s not what you said last night!”

“We’re out of coffee, you know,” Trott points out, tapping his fingers against the cover of his book.

Smith sighs in mild exasperation. “... _Fine._ ”

 

The rest stop is divided into two sections of restrooms, with vending machines and benches down the middle. It’s still early in the morning yet, so the air is just chilly enough to need a jacket.

Trott, of course, doesn’t have one. The one thing he didn’t pack for himself. Smith would offer him his jacket, if he _brought_ his, but he knows the warmth of the rising sun and the coffee will do it’s job in a few minutes. Not that he _planned_ on stopping for anything in the first place.

But now that Smith has, he wants to shake the nerves crawling up his spine. He’s anxious to get somewhere or do something. They’re too close and too far from the city.

Smith traces the goosebumps on the back of Trott’s arm as the selkie vends his coffee. Trott swats Smith’s hand away and carefully carries his hot cup over to a bench to put on the lid.

Smith punches buttons, tapping his foot impatiently and looking between the vending machine and Trott. The daylight shines at the open ends of the rest stop. The shadows feel colder, and they highlight the lines of Trott’s jaw and shoulders. Ross and Sips are farther down, scoping out the snack machines for the best chips and candies.

Once Smith gets his coffee, he and Trott walk back to the car and lean up against it to share body heat.

Trott hip checks Smith, and Smith bumps him back.

“Don't make me spill my coffee.” Trott glares.

Smith smirks and brings the cup to his mouth. He needs the caffeine to keep him awake. Falling asleep has gotten easier, but some nights he can’t make his brain turn off. Last night he couldn’t fall asleep immediately, and then he dreamt he couldn’t leave the city no matter how far he drove. The road was endless. Any way he turned, it led to a club, or a bridge.

Smith chugs his cheap coffee more than savoring it, scalding the roof of his mouth in the process. The flavor is bitter and not the best. But it isn’t the worst rest stop coffee he’s had, either.

Smith licks his lips of the last few watery drops, and looks over at Trott. Morning sunlight turns Trott’s hair into gold. The selkie is drinking his coffee calmly and watching the few other groups of people milling about the rest stop. Smith wants to take his time winding Trott up bit by bit until he shoves Smith against a wall or something. He can feel a pent-up simmer of arousal and frustration, and with the morning comes the feeling of unease he’s gotten so terribly used to.

Smith smiles and leans in, lips just shy of Trott’s ear. “Wanna go have a quickie?” he whispers with a grin.

Trott snorts. “Didn't you get some earlier today?”

“I didn't, actually. Didn't hear me moaning in the shower, did you?”

“I figured your mouth was otherwise preoccupied.”

“Nah.” Smith nuzzles Trott’s cheek. “Besides. I didn't get any action from you. That's different.”

“Is it?” Trott asks, drinking his coffee.

“Mhm...” Smith presses a lingering kiss to Trott’s jaw. “ _Trott_.”

Trott sighs.

Smith grins back. He knows he's won before Trott’s even agreed to anything.

“You’re insatiable,” Trott tuts.

“Maybe that’s why I need three randy men to keep me satisfied.” Smith winks. “Come on, Trotty, before Sips and Ross come back with their vending machine haul.” He pulls his head back and looks in the direction the other members of their court were. He can’t see them, but they’re probably still buying things.

Trott shakes his head. There’s a smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. “I’m not done with my coffee yet,” he replies, smirking past the cup and taking a long drink.

“Aw, come on, Trott.” Smith grins. He curls his free arm around Trott’s waist and leans in again. “I can wake you up with something else, instead,” he whispers. He playfully licks the shell of Trott’s ear, and snickers at the resultant shiver.

 _Come on, please say yes?_ Smith thinks, kissing Trott’s neck. _This camping trip’s just the start of a massive fuck fest, and I can’t resist._

He knows Trott can see where this is going; he can tell without looking that Trott’s rolling his eyes at his antics. There had been times before when they were out driving, that they pulled over somewhere random to fuck out their feelings. Trott may be a stickler for the rules sometimes, but he’s just as willing as Smith is to bend them. Within reason.

“ _Trott_...” Smith whispers into Trott’s neck, nipping a little, kissing a little more. He can see the gears turning in Trott’s head, and hopes Trott knows this means more than what he implies. It’s never really “just a quickie” that he’s asking for. It’s that closeness. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the city calling him back right now. He’s afraid that if he looks away from Trott, he’ll find someone to drown. His keys feel heavy in his pocket. He needs a distraction, and...if he’s honest, Trott and his court are one of the best distractions he’s got. If there’s any chance of him being something he’s not...

Smith slowly pulls away, fingertips teasing up the hem of Trott’s shirt. “What do you say, Trotty-too-hotty? Want to have a quickie now...or save it for the road?” Smith traces the pale strip of skin revealed between the hem of Trott’s shirt and the waistband of his shorts. He’s seen the spot perhaps a dozen times, but no matter how much he does, he’ll never tire of Trott. “You know, I think road head might be the one thing we _haven’t_ tried.”

Trott snorts. Barely contained amusement is visible in his features. He’s trying not to smile or lean into Smith’s touch, but Smith can see his resolve crumbling fast.

“I’m not blowing you while you’re driving,” Trott warns.

Smith slips his fingers under the waistband of Trott’s shorts. “Aw, come on. How about on the way back?” He smirks.

“Fuck off, Smith,” the selkie mutters without any heat.

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

Trott finishes his coffee unperturbed, taking his time. Smith watches Trott swallow the remainder, and watches his fist crumple and drop the empty cup. Trott grabs the front of Smith’s shirt, tugging sharply so Smith stumbles into him a step.

“Whoa, alright. Is that a ‘fuck yes’? Or a ‘yes, fuck’?” Smith asks teasingly, tongue between his teeth.

Trott flattens him with an alluring stare and a slow-forming smirk. “It’s an agreement,” he states, “You want a quickie, sunshine? I’ll make it quick.”

Trott pulls Smith an inch closer, like his shirt’s a leash instead of an article of clothing, so close their noses brush.

“You want it quick, I’ll give it to you. And you’ll barely be able to gasp my name while I do.” Trott says smoothly.

Smith holds back a shudder. A roguish grin works it’s way across his face.

Fuck, he loves it when Trott tells him how it is.

Smith folds his own hand over Trott’s where it’s twisted in his shirt. “Come fuck me, then...” he dares, and kisses him.

 

“Where are Trott and Smith going?” Ross asks Sips, watching the two water fae walk away from the car hand-in-hand just as he and Sips finish buying out the vending machine.

“Probably gonna go bang in the bathroom,” Sips says bluntly. “Just means more snacks for us and more time to stretch our legs.”

Ross rolls his eyes at their antics, because _of course_ they’re going off to fuck. He’s not surprised, or annoyed, or anything like that- he’s just anxious to _get there already_ and he knows his court is tired of him asking, “Are we there yet?”

Ross shifts the snacks in his arms very slowly so he doesn’t drop any, and turns towards Sips.

The mortal king has a quartet of Mountain Dews in his arms. He stares up at maps and routes posted to a bulletin board.

“Where are we, anyway?” Ross asks. He looks down at the Twizzlers on top of his snack collection, and almost uses his tail to grab it when he realizes there are too many humans who might notice. They wouldn’t see the tail, but they’d see candy float in mid-air, and that would be a little out of the ordinary. Ross curls his tail around Sips’ ankle instead.

“We’re about...over here. Four or so hours away from the city.” Sips answers, pointing to a bright blue star on the map. He tracks his finger Northeast along the line for the road, and taps a section of forest near the river. “Smith said we’re heading up here.”

“I’ve never seen outside of the city, other than the ocean,” Ross says thoughtfully. “I’ve read books and watched films, but I can only imagine the world by that, and what Trott and Smith tell me. And there’s only so much _they’ve_ seen.” The rest of the world outside their city was one big question mark to Ross. “It’ll be nice to see Smith’s territory for a change.”

Sips hums. He looks through the little travel brochures lining the bottom of the map. “I’ve travelled a little. Can’t say it’s for me, but when I left home I thought I’d be wandering forever.”

“Wandering like Smith?”

”Not quite.” Sips wrinkles his nose at some of the pamphlets and sticks them back into their plastic holsters. “I didn’t wander for a purpose, I just ran.”

“Ran from what?” Ross frowns.

Sips takes a step back from the map, looking it over in distracted thought. Ross lets go of Sips’ ankle and taps his tail against the ground instead. Concrete beneath their feet, old, but relatively new compared to himself. Nineteen fifties, maybe? With a layer of...seventies on top? He wasn’t sure, without using his hands.

Sips stares silently and vacantly into the network of grid lines and cities printed on the wall.

“I don’t really know what I was running from,” he says at last, blinking heavily. “Long ago I would have said societal expectation and parental pressure, but-” he sighs, “-now, I just don’t know.”

Ross frowns, wondering if maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up. Sips isn’t frowning, but he’s not smiling either. He doesn’t look happy. He looks like Smith does when the kelpie’s in one of his somber moods, and Ross doesn’t want to see either of them like that. That’s why they were going camping for Smith in the first place. Or so Trott said.

“Sorry for asking, Sips,” Ross says quietly. The breeze ruffles the plastic snack bags in his arms. In the distance, he hears the shrill squeak of rusty hinges on a restroom door.

Sips shakes his head as if to dust the past from his mind. “It’s alright, Ross,” he murmurs, “It’s just something I don’t think about much anymore.”

Sips adjusts the cold drinks in his arms and nods towards the parking lot. “Come on, let's go wait at the car. Something tells me we don’t want to wait around here while they fuck.”

 

When Smith and Trott get back, they’re flushed, have their clothing and hair in a disarray, and are laughing at the top of their lungs.

“What are you two bozos laughin’ at?” Sips asks, raising an eyebrow as they get in the car.

“What, you couldn’t hear us from over here?” Smith asks with a grin. “Probably fucked so loud the horned bastard heard us way back in the city!” He flashes a brilliant smile towards Trott as they buckle up.

Trott laughs, throwing his head back against the seat. “The look on their _faces_ when we walked out! Fucking _priceless._ ”

“Those poor rest stop people,” Ross says, sounding completely shocked and sincere.

Smith cackles so hard the driver's seat shakes. Trott tries and fails to muffle his laughter in his hands.

“ _Filthy!_ ” Ross tuts. He smiles in confused curiosity at their shared enjoyment.

Sips just rolls his eyes and shoves Smith’s shoulder. “We going or what? Thought you were gonna show me the great outdoors, Smiffy. All I see is the passenger seat of a car.”

Smith and Trott’s laughing fit dies off, and Smith sighs happily.

“Yeah, yeah, _okay!_ Shit...” He chuckles. “I’ll show you how great the outdoors are, you kinky fuck. Just you wait.” He winks at Sips and restarts the car.

Ross shakes his head again in bemusement. Trott smooths the wrinkles in his shirt and smiles, staring out at the highway before them as they continue on their trip.

 

Sips hums along with the radio. He digs through the snacks stashed under the seat, and when he gets what he wants, he puts his shoeless feet back on the dashboard.

"Licorice?" Sips asks Smith, opening the cellophane candy bag in his lap and picking up a few pieces.

Smith opens his mouth in a chomping motion towards Sips, keeping his eyes on the road but turning his head and leaning slightly right.

Sips rolls his eyes skyward and obliges, feeding Smith by hand. He shakes his head fondly as Smith eats out of his palm.

Smith smiles and affectionately nibbles Sips' fingers a little.

"You're a fucking horse, Smith..." Trott sighs from the backseat, glancing up from his book and noticing the exchange.

"And you're fucking one," Sips interjects smartly.

"That joke is never funny," Trott drones.

Smith snorts, trying to unstick licorice from his teeth. "Please, that joke never gets old.”

“By the logic of that joke, we’ve all fucked a horse. And yet who gets the brunt of it? _Me_.”

“...Has anyone actually fucked the horse?” Ross asks curiously.

“Fuck, _no!_ ” Smith laughs. “What kind of a question is that? Bunch of filthy fucking bastards you are, sitting here talking about banging horse dick!” he says through gritted teeth.

"To be fair, Smiffy, nobody said anything about horse _dick,_ " Sips replies.

“Fuck off!” Smith makes a gagging noise and shakes his head. The grin hasn’t left his face since early this morning; his court’s ridiculous banter doesn’t change a thing.

Trott rolls his eyes and turns a page in his book. “Regardless, the joke’s been overdone to death.”

“You’ve been beating a dead horse joke, you could say,” Sips interjects.

Trott and Smith groan in exasperation, and Ross just blinks, confused.

“Thank you, thank you- I’ll be here all week.” Sips holds the licorice bag towards the backseat with one hand. "Black licorice, Trott?” he asks.

Trott grimaces and shakes his head. "Fuck no. Gross."

"Ross? You want licorice?"

"No, I'm good," Ross hums. He turns back towards the window, eyes more interested on the countryside as it rolls past.

“I didn’t ask if you were good, I asked if you wanted licorice.”

“No, I don’t want any.”

Sips shrugs and turns back around. "More for us, then, Smiffy."

Smith makes a nickering noise through his teeth and grins.

 

* * *

 

"Ross, settle down for fuck's sake, you're making the car shake!"

Trott leans over and holds Ross’ knee down, trying to keep the gargoyle from bouncing his leg in anxiousness.

“Are we _there_ _yet?_ ” Ross whines, “It’s been fucking _ages._ ”

“Mate, it’s only been _five hours_. How do you not have any patience?” Trott sighs.

“I’m just _excited_ , I want to _get there_ already,” Ross says, “Smith, how far are we?”

“A minute or two, alright! I’m just going to pull off the interstate!” Smith snaps aggravatedly.

Sips shakes his head. “Fucking hell, Ross, it’s just the woods. It better live up to your expectations.”

Ross smiles. “It’s gonna be great, I know it.”

 

Empty snack bags spill out of the car when Ross gets out. He scoops them up and stuffs them in the pocket behind Smith’s seat.

The forest welcomes them with ample birdsong and plenty of sunshine. The garbage court take their time unpacking the trunk full of camping gear, backpacks, and the cooler stocked with food and drinks.

“Help me collect some branches.” Smith gestures to Ross. “We need enough to surround the car with.”

“How come?”

“Protection. Keep my car hidden out of sight of the road.”

“We’re not camping right here?” Sips asks, inspecting the trees nearby and picking a piece of mossy bark off with his fingers.

“Nope, we’re hiking up that-a-way.” Smith points through the trees at a rough dirt trail. “Up the cliffside to the river. We’ll probably stop there for lunch, then continue down, cross the valley, and make camp.”

Ross drops a bundle of sticks by Smith’s feet, and the kelpie starts fitting them together in a woven ring around the car. “Then what?”

“What do you mean, ‘then what’? Then we camp, it’s that easy.”

“Sips is camp all the time,” Trott jokes.

“Excuse you? Not just ‘all the time’ Trott, being camp is my number one goal in life. I strive to camp as no one has ever camped before!”

“What happens if you break a nail, your highness?”

Sips mock gasps. “Don’t joke about that stuff, Trott, you’ll jinx me!”

Trott and Sips finish taking everything out of the car while Smith shows Ross how to weave branches together into sigils.

“Start with three, and work your way up in numbers. Three, four, five, etcetera. Odds are triangles; evens are squares.”

Smith works much quicker than Ross does. Ross’ mostly fall apart. He kneels down on the ground, frowns, and tries again, peering at Smith’s patterns without disturbing their placement.

“How do those work, exactly?” Sips asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow towards Smith’s woven stick shapes. “They’re just sticks in a pile.”

“I don’t know. It’s somewhat of a superstition, to appease the forest spirits in exchange for protection or guidance.” Smith adjusts one to lean up against a back tire.

“Forest spirits? Like ghosts?” Ross raises an eyebrow.

“Not...exactly. Beings of positive energy? It’s hard to explain. They're not harmful, or they're not thought to be. You just have to appease them by doing things like this. But like I said- it’s just superstition. It works, but whether there’s truth in it, I don’t know.”

“Huh. I knew-” Sips clears his throat and swallows thickly. “-someone. Once. Who believed in all that shit. Load of bull, in my opinion.”

“Ooh, you better watch out, Sips. You don’t want the forest spirits to think ill of you for that.” Smith waggles his eyebrows at him and laughs.

“Did the person you knew do anything like this?” Ross asks, frowning at his pile of sticks as they fall apart again.

“No. They had a shrine for the spirits of their house, and paid them tokens of respect on certain yearly festivals.”

“River folk don’t have shrines or anything.”

Sips snorts. “You’re not a godly man, anyway, Ponyboy.”

Smith grins and rounds the car to take the branches from Ross. He effortlessly weaves them into shapes in no time flat. “Says who?”

“Says your libido.”

Smith laughs. “I’m no man of god, that’s true. But I’m not a man, either.” He smirks. “And who are you to call me out on my beliefs, _Saint Sips?_ Didn’t know you were the holy ghost expert.”

“Ross is probably more of an expert than I am, but I don’t think that makes a difference.” Sips smiles and adjusts the hat on his head. “Nobody’s a saint here, Smiffy, not even me.”

“Just because a kelpies’ moral code isn’t godly doesn’t mean we can’t be spiritual.” Smith counters.

“The only spirits you pay your respects to are the decidedly alcoholic, Smith,” Trott interjects, heaving the cooler out of the trunk with a protesting groan. “Ross, help me with this, will you?”

Smith grins back at them. “Alright, fair enough. Fae like their dancing and drinking, I'll tell you that for free.”

Sips rolls his eyes. “That’s something I’m much accustomed to, myself, thank you very much.”

“Welcome!”

Ross hands the rest of the sticks to Smith and gets to his feet. “The person you knew, Sips- did they ever think the spirits were out to get them if they didn’t pay respects? The church was like that. But not with spirits.”

“Nope. They always did their part, though. Just in case.”

Trott and Ross take the last of their things out of the trunk and shut it.

“That’s very superstitious of them,” Trott adds in.

“Very superstitious, oh do do doo...” Sips sings slightly off-key.

Smith picks up where he left off. He dusts the dirt from his hands as he comes back around the car.

Trott divvies out their supplies, and they each take a backpack of materials. “Smith, grab the tent, would you?” he instructs.

“Nah, mate, I’m not dragging that all the way. You do it.”

“I have all the cookware, I’m not carrying another thing of metal!”

Trott and Smith look at Ross.

“Oh, fuck off! _I’ve_ got the cooler,” he replies.

“Well, I don’t want to fucking do it, one of you should-”

“Why can’t you just carry it, it’s _one_ thing-”

“Exactly, so you can take that fucking tent and-”

Sips snaps, " _I'll_ do it. I'm not that old yet."

"Yeah, and what if you keel over?" Smith replies, grumpily pulling at the straps of his backpack. "I'm certainly not catching you if you happen to fall off the side of the cliff."

"Ross'll save me, won't you Ross? My knight in shining armor."

"That's a bit of an exaggeration," Trott mutters.

"A bit?"

Ross grins. "I think you’re forgetting, guys, that me being the knight makes Sips a princess."

"Fuck _you_ , Ross, I am not a princess-"

"And who wanted a deluxe-sized mattress and tent so they wouldn't have to sleep on the ground for two nights?" Trott rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Should have bought you the rinky dinky Disney Princess one on Amazon."

"Well, if it's fit for a princess-"

"It's for four year olds, Sips."

"-I'll fucking take it."

Trott sighs. "Dammit, could have saved me fucking money..."

Smith locks the car up and leads the group, heading off down the trail with Sips, Ross, and Trott not far behind him.

The sun is high in the sky, and the day is bright and beautiful for hiking. Smith takes charge, suggesting where they should go and what they should do, and pointing out things of interest.

Ross follows close behind, looking at everything with a child-like wonder. The forest is alive with so many birds and wildlife that he doesn’t see in the city streets. Not even the parks are so rich with green like the forest is. His tail swishes behind him, flicking a stray pebble here and there and sending it skittering into the brush.

Sips and Trott share a knowing smile behind their backs.

Smith leads them up rocky slopes, and to a giant drainage pipe, where they stop to rest. They sit on the edge, swinging their legs and eating their lunch.

"If I remember right...” Smith says, scratching at his stubble momentarily, “They say this place used to be a battlefield." His eyes seem far away, like they’re remembering stories of old, and people of long, long ago. “Where the river starts to pick up, there’s an undertow in the rapids.” He points with his other sandwich half in his grip. At this height, they can see for miles into the horizon. The river winds through the trees and the fields break the forest line.

Ross traces the sediment lines across a rock formation. Shivers of the past ripple through him. If he closes his eyes, he can almost smell the gunsmoke, feel the earth shake with cannon fire, hear the peppering of bullets into flesh or foliage. Smith voices over, talking about generals and battles. Armies fighting across fields and forests.

Ross has to pull himself away, the memories so strong he could get lost in them. He picks up his sandwich in his lap slowly, counting pairs of fingers to make sure. Fingers, not claws. He runs a tongue across his teeth and takes a bite, thinking hard. It was...fascinating, and not a little terrifying, that something so strong was trapped in the rock behind them. Ross chews slowly, savoring the mesh of flavorful meats, cheeses and vegetables, and thinks about magic in memories.

 

After they finish lunch, they climb down, calling out terrible foul-mouthed echoes into the drainage pipe as they do.

"Hello!" _ello, ello!_

"Eat shit!" _shit, shit!_

“Trott’s a twat!” _twat, twat!_

"Fuck you, Smith!" _Smith!_

Smith is in his element. Out in the fields; in the sunshine. He strolls barefoot with his boots tied around his neck, weaving his hand through the fluffy tails of golden wheatgrass as he walks. He’s muddy and caked in dirt. His khakis are pulled up, bunched around his knees. It’s warm in the sunlight, and sweat makes the ends of his hair stick to the back of his neck.

Smith pulls flowers up from the ground. He makes a daisy-chain necklace and throws it over Trott’s head.

Trott sneezes. Ross laughs, and Sips smiles.

Smith grins and makes one for Sips and Ross too.

They walk back into the midst of the woods and continue along the riverside. When they stop for a break, Smith cools off in the river. Clear water rushes cold over his bare toes, and he gladly dives under the water while he’s still wearing his clothes.

Smith tosses his head from side to side when he breaks the surface.

“Nice mane,” says Trott.

“Want to join me?” Smith waggles his eyebrows.

Trott shakes his head. “I’m not a river person.”

Smith laughs. “Bull _shit_. Come on, Trotty.” He holds his hands out, beckoning. “Don’t tell me you don’t want a piece of this kelpie!”

“Fuck, why.” Trott facepalms, laughing and shaking his head. “What’s with the terrible wooing?”

“All this fresh air’s gone to his head.” Ross chuckles, tossing pebbles further downstream.

“Quick Trott, get him salty about something, and then you can swim!” Sips cracks. He sits down next to Ross.

“I’ll give you something salty, you dirty fucker,” Smith says between his teeth. “C’mere.”

“I’m good, actually.”

“I bet you’re good. How about a ride, Sips?” Smith grins.

Sips eyes him suspiciously.

“Come on, aren’t you curious?”

“Smith-” Trott starts.

“I’m not going to drown him, Trott, seriously,” Smith scoffs, rolls his eyes, and pulls his wet shirt up over his head. He tosses it towards Ross and runs his fingers through his hair. “What do you say, Sips?”

Sips sighs.

"Sips-" Trott interjects warningly.

“I can make my own decisions, Trott,” Sips says quietly.

Ross looks back and forth between them.

Trott folds his arms over his chest.

Smith grins. “One ride, down the river.” He points past Ross. “Ross and Trott can meet us up at the bend.”

“You’re not going to drown me, Smiffy?” Sips asks.

“You have my word.” Smith smiles sincerely.

Sips sighs and gets to his feet. “Alright...do I have to get naked, or...?”

“I mean,” Smith smiles saliciously and shimmies his wet pants down his legs. “If you wanna.” Smith winks. He puts his keyring between his teeth as he removes his pants and tosses them aside. They float towards the bank where Ross is sitting.

“I think I’ll keep my clothes on, thanks.” Sips walks towards the water, adjusting his hat.

Smith grins around his keys in his mouth. He tosses his head and in the blink of an eye there’s a horse standing where he stood.

“ _Shit!_ ” Sips flinches backwards in surprise and nearly trips.

Trott and Ross laugh at his reaction.

Instead of a naked Smith, there’s a horse standing in his place. Tall and muscular, with a rich, dark brown flank and a reddish chestnut hued mane and tail.

“Wow...” Sips looks Smith’s horse form up and down. “You’re a damn pretty horse, Smith.”

Smith nickers and tosses his mane. He trots backwards into the water, gesturing with his head for Sips to come closer.

Sips takes a deep breath and walks up to him, giving a shiver at the cold water. He smooths his hand along Smith’s flank and eyes the silver bridle glinting in the sunlight.

“Remember, Smiffy. You promised,” Sips murmurs. He takes ahold of the bridle and holds on as the magic pulls him up onto Smith’s back.

“Shit...why are horses so damn tall?” he asks quietly. His knees grip tight on either side of Smith, and he hunches over, clinging to Smith’s mane and his bridle.

Smith snorts. He shakes his head a little, and Sips slowly loosens his hold. He pets Smith’s head until he’s not clinging tightly.

“Sorry. Too tight, eh?” Sips takes another breath and adjusts his posture. Trott and Ross are watching from the shore. They don’t look concerned. More amused than anything.

Sips taps his foot against Smith’s flank. “You going to move, or stand here? Giddy-up, Ponyboy. _Whoa!_ ”

Smith bucks and takes off down the river.

Sips hangs on for dear life. The river water splashes up, soaking him through, and the trees blur past in a streak of green. The mortal king laughs at the ridiculousness of it all, whooping and hollering, and enjoying the exhilaration. “Shit!”

“Oh, fuck...” Ross groans, watching as Smith and Sips gallop away down the river.

“What?”

“Now we have to carry all this stuff...”

Trott curses. “Smith, you fucking bastard!” he yells.

Down the river, the hear a whinny and a laugh.

 

“Owww, my fucking ass...” Sips whines as he dismounts. He hobbles out of the river towards a large stump and sits down. “It really does feel like I rode the fuck out of you...”

Smith turns back into his human form, laughing. “Did you like it?” he asks, striding through the river with his keys in hand.

“Besides my ass-beating?” Sips chuckles and watches Smith walk towards him. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Smith grins, ducking his head down to kiss Sips tenderly. “Thanks.”

Sips looks him over and smiles, watching the water drip down Smith’s naked skin.

“Like something you see?” Smith asks cheekily.

Sips shrugs. “I wouldn’t turn down a blowie, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Filthy bugger.” Smith obliges and gets on his knees between Sips’ legs. “Could let me ride you next, but my pants are up-river.”

“You don’t have lube for once??” Sips gasps, undoing his wet shorts and taking himself out.

Smith rolls his eyes. “What’s a horse gonna do with lube, mate?” He shakes his head. “Don’t answer that.”

Sips’ laugh dissolves into a sigh at the feeling of Smith’s lips and tongue on his dick. He threads his fingers loosely through Smith’s wet hair. The sunlight shines through the trees, backlighting Smith as he goes down on him. Sips smiles at Smith, pleased. Pretty good sight, indeed.

 

“You- fucking- wankers!” Trott pants, hiking towards them with Ross not far behind. “You just fuck off- _literally fuck off, by the looks of it_ \- down the fucking river and leave the two of us to carry all this shit! _What the fuck!_ ”

Sips laughs, while Smith just continues sucking him off with a hum.

“Why do we have all this, anyway?” Ross moans, dropping all the things he was carrying onto the ground. He flops down next to it with a loud thud.

Smith draws off, laughing. “Ross, you’re a fucking _rock!_ How are you tired?”

Ross grumbles and flips him off.

Sips laughs. “How about this, Trott- I’ll cook dinner.”

“I guess...” Trott sighs and looks down at Smith, who has gone back to blowing Sips.

“Where’s _my_ thank-you blowie, you kelpie bastard?” Trott tuts, pushing Smith farther down Sips’ dick.

Smith shifts up on his hands and knees and wiggles his butt at him.

Trott grins. “Oh, I’d love to, sunshine...” He gives Smith’s ass a smack. “But I’m afraid I left your shorts halfway up the river.”

Smith lets out a squeak of indignation while the rest of his court just laughs.

 

* * *

 

After Smith gallops back to get his shorts, they decide to set up there, a few feet from the river. Trott and Ross weren’t going to carry the supplies any farther. The selkie and gargoyle browse through the surrounding trees for firewood and leave Smith and Sips to set up the tent.

Sips cracks open a beer.

“Sips, you lazy bastard!” Smith cries.

“That’s _magnificent_ to you, Smiffy,” Sips corrects. He shakes open a folding lawn chair with one hand and sits down, propping his feet up on the lid of the cooler.

“ _Sips_.”

“What?”

“You're supposed to be helping me!”

Sips kicks back to sunbathe, eyes closed; beer in hand. “I’m helping supervise you, because fuck knows you’d get distracted. Just lay out the tent and stick the poles in the ground, that's all there is to it.”

Smith lets out an aggrieved whine. “Mate, I don't know what the fuck to do with this.” He flaps the weird water-proof fabric in his grasp. “Fuckin' kelpies don't fucking sleep in fucking tents!”

Sips sighs. He heaves himself out of his chair and groans in complaint about his sore ass.

Smith hands him the poles and spreads the tent fabric out on the ground. “You’ve been camping before, haven’t you, Sips?” he asks.

“Yeah, course I have. Can’t really remember what we did, other than get completely wasted and throw walnuts at the squirrels. Not entirely sure we left someone’s backyard, honestly. Or maybe it was the woods behind their house...”

Smith snorts.

 

* * *

 

Sips was the master of fire-cooking, roasting potatoes and sausages over the open flame and singing under his breath.

“The _hoboes'_ _kitchen!_ ” Smith says to Ross and Trott. They grin back.

 

When the sun started to set it cast beams of gold through the trees. Their shadows stretched out in front of them, thin wiry stalks triple their heights in length.

After they finish eating, Sips lets out a loud belch. “Time for s’mores!” he whoops.

“I thought you said we ate it all?” Ross asks, licking his lips.

“What? No. S’mores. You know...” Sips gestures as he pulls the bag of marshmallows out of the supply bag.

The three fae stare back at him with blank expressions.

“ _Holy fuck_ , you three have never...” Sips shakes his head in exasperation and pulls out the remaining ingredients. “This _has_ to be remediated immediately. I can’t believe you three haven’t had a fuckin’ _s’more_. _Shit_.”

Sips opens the box of graham crackers as the fae watch in rapt attention. “First...you take the graham and split it like so.” He breaks the cracker into two even parts and juggles the supplies on his lap to open a chocolate bar. “You place the chocolate on top of one side, and _then_ it’s time for the marshmallow!”

Trott hands Sips a roasting fork when he asks for it, and watches the mortal king spear a marshmallow on the end and lower it into the fire.

“Roast the mallow until it is at desired burnification. You _could_ flame it to hell, but there is nothing closer to perfection than a perfectly toasted marshmallow, in my opinion.” Sips carefully turns the fork until the marshmallow is brown on all sides, and then carefully lowers it to the chocolate and graham cracker balanced on his knees.

“When that’s done, you return to your base, and wedge the roasted marshmallow between the two halves of graham. Whala!” Sips sets the fork down, assembles his s’more, and takes a bite. Making pleased crunching noises, he waves at them to go ahead, and tosses the bag of marshmallows to Ross.

Trott takes the box of graham crackers and the chocolate bars off of Sips’ lap.

Ross grins at the sound of Sips’ food-muffled hums of joy.

Sips swallows thickly and smiles. “Hop to it, boys, before the fire gets cold.”

“Before the fire- ugh, why.” Smith rolls his eyes. “What kind of joke is that? How old are you, _grandpa?_ ”

Sips laughs. He kicks Smith’s chair as he reaches for another beer. “Shut up and make grandpa another s’more.”

Smith groans theatrically, “Make your own damn-”

“Best s’more gets the comfiest spot next to me in the tent. Come on, you can’t beat that offer. One time only, just a roasted mallow away!”

“Gonna roast your mallow, you piece of-” Smith growls under his breath. He fights Trott over the better roasting fork, determined on making Sips the best damned s’more the bastard’s ever had.

Ross shakes his head in amusement. He uses his tail to spear a bunch of marshmallows and lines up his graham crackers like a train, carefully placing chocolate perfectly in the middle of each.

 

They eat half the bag as the night sky shifts into a field of stars above them.

Smith becomes unusually quiet. His knee bounces in anxiousness. His hair looks even more like burning leaves in the firelight, and the shadows around him seem darker. He's smiling softly at some crazy story Sips is regaling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Trott finishes the last bite of his s’more. He gets up from the lawn chair he was sitting in, and saunters over to Smith. Smith looks towards him with raised eyebrows as Trott’s body blocks the light from the fire. Trott straddles him and the chair creaks dangerously. Smith’s arms come around Trott’s waist, and Trott kisses him.

Smith can taste the sweetness of the toasted marshmallow. He kisses Trott harder. He can feel a bit of melted chocolate smearing from Trott’s skin to his, but it’s not important right now.

Smith slides one hand up the back of Trott's shirt.

Trott smirks. He tilts Smith's jaw with a hand and kisses him again, rocking his hips forward into Smith’s.

But the chair they're sitting in isn't designed to seat two.

The harder they rock, the more the chair creaks.

The water fae squawk loudly as the chair crumples backwards and they end up in a pile on the ground.

Sips laughs so hard he spills beer down the front of his shirt.

Ross grins from ear to ear.

 

* * *

 

Smith slowly unzips the door of the tent and climbs out. Sips snores on behind him, and Trott is curled into his side, fast asleep.

Smith re-zips the tent closed. He scratches at his beard and spots Ross in the darkness. He’s standing several feet from their extinguished fire, staring up at the stars above them and swishing his tail back and forth.

"Ross?" Smith calls quietly.

Ross looks over his shoulder, and his brow furrows. "What are you doing up?"

Smith shrugs as he steps around their campsite without bumping into anything and causing a racket. "Sips' snoring was keeping me awake."

Ross smiles, knowing that's not the only reason, but accepts it.

Smith stands beside Ross, watching the gargoyle as his eyes scan the sky. Ross’ tail curls around his leg. Fireflies flit over the grass around them, hiding between the trees, and floating along the riverside.

"You never see this in the city," Ross says towards the sky.

"Nah, you don't. I miss it." Smith smiles bemusedly.

"You got to see this all the time, when you lived out here?"

"Oh, yeah. The stars were your compass. You slept under them and used them to guide your way. Some even have stories." Talking about it makes Smith think of darker evenings than this. His hooves scuffing lines in the dirt near the mouth of his home lake.

"Stories?" Ross asks.

Smith smiles at the excited look in his eyes. "Yeah. Folktales and myths that connect with certain stars."

"Like what?"

“Well...” Smith guides Ross to turn, standing behind him with his hands on Ross’ shoulders and pointing up. “First, you’ve got the big dipper. It looks like a giant soup ladle or a plough or something.”

Ross tilts his head and frowns. “A...plough?”

“Or a ladle. Follow my finger, see these stars here? The line I’m making?”

“Oh! I see it now.”

“Yeah. That’s the big dipper. And if you follow the line _here_...five times the distance of these two stars on the end...” Smith points to the stars opposite of the handle on the ladle, and traces a line across the sky. “You find the North Star.”

“It’s brighter than the others.”

Smith lowers his hand back to Ross’ shoulder. “Mhm. The brightest star in the sky. It always points North, too, and that’s why people use it for navigation. Many an explorer or adventurer has followed that star.”

“Wow...” Ross breathes, “And there’s a story to go with it?”

“Yeah, sort of. For that, you have to look at the bigger picture.” Smith nudges Ross back a step and points again. “The handle of the big dipper is the neck, and the cup part becomes part of the torso. The stars that make up the limbs are harder to see, but it’s supposed to form a picture of Ursa Major, or the Great Bear.”

“And you said there’s a story?”

Smith chuckles at the excitement in Ross’ hushed voice. “Yeah. There is.” He wraps his arms around Ross’ torso and clears his throat.

“Some say there was a woman named Callisto. She had taken a vow of chastity, but the king of the gods, Zeus, seduced her. When she was later found to be with child, she was cast out from her people and turned into a bear. The son she had given birth to, Arcas, became a hunter. He nearly slew his mother in mistake. So he was turned into a bear as well. They were both placed into the sky, becoming constellations, to protect the people who had turned against them. Never touching the horizon, and never touching the earth again.”

“They never returned to what they once were?”

Smith shakes his head. “No.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know.” Smith shrugs. “That’s what the gods deemed a suitable punishment for breaking a vow of chastity and attempting to murder someone.”

“Jeeze.” Ross frowns. “That’s harsh, to be frozen in a place that isn’t home.”

Smith scoffs quietly. “Not all gods are kind, Ross. None of them are, in my opinion.”

“That isn’t true.”

Smith shrugs again. “Speak for yourself.”

Ross examines the sky, connecting stars and forming pictures in his mind. “Why were they changed into bears?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Trott told me that story. You’ll have to ask him.”

“I thought there aren’t bears in the sea?”

“There aren’t. Not that we know of, at least. Trott said the story is from the people who were on ships they wrecked. Some river fae have different stories about the constellations.”

“Like what?”

“Well...I can’t really translate it directly. Most things in river fae are unpronounceable by human tongue,” Smith hums, “There is a story with something about a woman named Rhiannon. A queen of immutable beauty, thought to be a goddess who had an affinity for horses. She and her husband formed a hunting party after a terrible storm killed local livestock. During their hunt, they wrongfully slayed a sacred white boar. They were captured by a blanket of mist as punishment for their wrongdoing. The winds whisked them up into the stars, and far away from their lives on earth. It’s said they’re forever trapped to trod the heavens into infinity. Riding across the sky without reaching any set destination.”

Ross was quiet for a long moment, thinking. “Does it mean anything?” he asks at last.

“Does what?”

“The story. Why do stars have stories? They’re just specks of light, far, far away from us.”

“I don’t know. People had nothing better to do back then, I guess.” Smith chuckles softly. “You know, those stars and those stories are even older than you, Ross.”

“Huh. I guess I didn’t think about there being...”

“What?”

“Things before me. There was, of course, but...” Ross stares in awe. “Something older than I, and such a mystery, still. That’s something I’ve known, but never fully acknowledged.”

“Acknowledged what?”

“There’s always something bigger than you, out there...older, and more complicated.”

“Yeah.” Smith smiles. “I guess there is.”

 

* * *

 

Trott takes a deep breath and lets it go. The air smells of greenery and dew. It’s just before sunrise, and he’s the first of his court awake. A thermos of hot tea is held between his hands.

Being here makes Trott think of being with Smith during those early decades they shared. It makes him think of rainy nights huddled under a blanket and his tattered skin. The warmth of Smith's breath, and the scratch of stubble. He remembers the way the light fell through the gaps in the leaves, and the lights of the city at night that first time they arrived. The creaky floorboards and broken mattress springs in the places they stayed.

But thinking of the early days always holds some bitterness to it, so Trott fast forwards through memories. Thinking instead of the familiarity of the apartment they were in now, and the unfamiliarity of Ross when he arrived. What it was like to adjust to the sinking of their mattress each night, the heavy thuds of footsteps that weren’t his or Smith’s; stepping on rock “collections” and cursing vehemently in water fae.

Trott chuckles quietly. He blows on his tea to cool it and takes a sip. To his left, he hears the sound of the tent zipper being undone, and turns his head.

Sips steps out of the tent with a loud yawn, and stretches. He re-zips the tent closed and shuffles over to him. “What're you doing up so early?” he asks in a hushed voice, scratching his stomach.

“Thinking.”

“Hm. Good thoughts?”

Trott taps his fingers against his thermos. His nails click on the stainless steel. “Some,” he answers, finally, smiling.

Sips watches him for a long moment. He narrows his eyes at the tension in Trott’s shoulders. “You can relax, too, you know. It's your vacation as much as it's theirs.” He gestures towards the tent.

“I know that.”

“Do you?” Sips raises an eyebrow.

Trott ignores the question. “Do you want something to drink? We brought tea bags and instant coffee. Ross might have stuck hot cocoa mix in there, too.” He nods to the backpack closest to them. Water boils away over the fire.

“Nah. Not yet. I think I’ll just cuddle with you until it warms up.” Sips rubs his hands together. He takes a seat besides Trott, and pulls Trott’s selkie skin around his shoulders to share warmth.

Trott smiles shyly and takes a drink of his tea. They don’t get many moments like this, he and Sips.

Sips clears his throat. “Something on your mind, Trott?”

“No,” Trott sighs, “This place is just...tied to the past. It’s strange to dig up old memories.”

“You do seem more at ease than I expected you to be here,” Sips hums. Steam hisses from the pot of water over the fire.

“What, did you think Smith and I’d switch temperaments?”

“No. Just didn’t think you liked camping.”

Trott frowns. “I don’t very much, no. Too many bugs. Too dirty. Nothing interesting.”

“The city’s no different.” Sips chuckles. “Dangerous, too.”

“Everywhere is. You’re human- you only see the surface.” Trott heaves a sigh. “The city has always interested me more than the wilderness. The forest wasn’t my home, like it was for Smith. But it isn’t the sea, either. Not everything has to interest me like the city does, and seeing Smith comfortable is good enough.”

Sips curls an arm around Trott’s waist, and rubs his hip in slow circles. “I can tell being out here is good for him. Ross likes it well enough.”

Trott smiles. “Ross likes anything new.”

Sips snorts. His touch on Trott’s hip slows to a standstill, and he adjusts Trott’s selkie skin around his shoulders with his other hand. “This isn’t new for either of us, is it?” he asks.

“No. I’d rather be home. It’s not like this place is bad...it just brings back things I don’t often think about. I’d rather live in the present, and the city is where we live.”

“Selkies aren’t common in the city...or so you say.”

Trott shakes his head. “I haven’t run into any in years. As far as I know, they stay clear of the city. The clans runs cruise lines, trip agencies, and tourist traps nowadays.”

Sips frowns. “That’s strange, for warriors and shipbreakers to turn to the hospitality industry.”

“Just the modern way to use people.” Trott shrugs. “Whoever took the throne has more interest in the mortal world than my father ever did.”

“Do you miss living by the sea?” Sips asks after a brief pause. “Not the people- I know you don’t miss those assholes. But do you miss the ocean?”

Trott doesn’t say anything for a long few moments, watching the river water glisten with rising sunlight. “No,” he says at last. “There’s nothing in my mind that wants to dive underneath the sea again. Even if no harm would come to me if I dared to live by a shoreline...there’s no point.”

Sips nods solemnly. "Sometimes I wonder why couldn't we just leave. Pack everything up and find another place far away from here. Wouldn’t have to be a beach."

"We're too tied to this city. Magically speaking. It's something I never considered when we built the court."

“Wouldn’t you want to live in a nicer place? A fancier apartment, at least. You know we live in a crap shack, even though it’s home.”

“You’ve asked that before. Why are you asking again now?” Trott sighs heavily and stares out into the woods. “I've lived in worse places, Sips.”

Sips frowns, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "I know. Would you change it, if you could?"

Trott turns to look at him. The mortal king is staring out at the horizon, at the sunlight sparkling through the trees. "Would you?" he asks.

Sips looks over. He leans closer and kisses Trott smoothly and sweetly.

"No,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “The past has passed."

Trott nods, “That’s the truth.” He smiles at Sips, a little sad, a little wistful.

Sips kisses him again, and they continue kissing as the sun comes up.

 

"Mornin'." Ross says.

Smith hums and shifts closer in the half-light of dawn. “Good morning to you, too...” he murmurs sleepily. Ross' tail winds around Smith’s calf, and he smiles. He doesn't want to wake just yet from this dreamlike state, half awake and still drifting in a peaceful night's rest. There's no hurry. No worries at the forefront of his mind yet. It’s bliss.

He hears Ross move in the sleeping bags they zipped together like blankets. Outside the tent, Trott and Sips' low voices are discussing something. Footsteps shuffle near the campfire. There’s a sizzling sound of breakfast being started.

Smith's eyelids feel heavy. He's pleasantly comfortable, despite the air mattress he's sleeping on not being as good as the bed at home. Ross slept between the tent wall and the edge of the air mattress, so he wouldn’t roll them all into a clump from his weight on one end. He’s still lying there now, probably waiting for Smith to wake fully so they can pester the other two members of their court about food.

Ross strokes his cheek, and Smith opens his eyes.

The light is dim in the tent, but the sun is starting to peek through the mesh windows in the sides. Smith can't wait to see the morning sunlight shine across Ross' marble and glass body. He wants to see the sun reflected in those pretty blue irises of his. Maybe he’ll have Ross fuck him as the sun rises up over the treeline. Lay back on the river bank, stuttered curses falling from his lips like an unholy prayer. Smith grins against Ross' neck and smothers a laugh.

Ross pecks a kiss to his cheek. "What's so funny?" he asks. He peppers Smith's face with kisses, and the kelpie shakes his head.

"Nothing..." he breathes back. He dips his head down and kisses Ross properly, lips moving slow and sure with the gargoyle’s. The sleeping bag is slipping down Smith’s naked back, but he feels warm and wonderfully content.

One of Ross' hands hooks around Smith's waist and tugs him on top of him. Smith folds himself into Ross' arms. It feels so good, just to hold and be held. He misses this, even though he can have it anytime he wants. He misses how easy it is to be with them.

Smith wonders to himself where it got so difficult.

As he pulls back, he meets Ross’ eyes. The sky has started to lighten, brightening the interior of the tent. Smith can see there are streaks of ash on Ross’ face, from standing too close to the campfire last night. It reminds him of a different fire altogether- of stained glass and burning pews. He licks his thumb and lovingly wipes the ashes off, grinning as Ross wrinkles his nose at the action.

Smith can remember how Ross learned that expression of distaste. The gargoyle had wanted to bake a cake, and Trott hadn’t been home at the time. Smith figured it couldn’t be that hard, but one broken stand-mixer later, he’d been proven wrong. Cake-batter splattered everywhere just as Trott walked through the kitchen doorway.

Smith had done the honor of wiping chocolate off Trott’s cheek. The selkie hadn’t been happy about the mess they made in his kitchen.

Smith chuckles at the memory, and leans into Ross’ touch.

Ross runs his fingers through Smith’s hair, taming his errant bed head and smiling dreamily.

Smith tries to rub off the ashes stuck to his thumb. He smiles back at Ross, but there’s pain in his eyes this time.

"What is it?" Ross asks. His brow furrows in concern.

Smith shrugs. "Just...this." He caresses his hand down the side of Ross’ face, along his neck and across his shoulder blade. Down his arm and along the red streak of the bond they made.

Smith squeezes Ross’ hand and lets go.

He tries to think of churches instead of gas stations.

“What’s wrong?” Ross frowns.

Smith shakes his head. “It’s nothing. It’s fine,” he lies.

“Then what’s that look for, Smith?”

Smith sighs and flicks at the sleeping bag zipper with his finger. “It’s _nothing_ , Ross,” he lies again. He avoids the gargoyle’s eyes.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

"...Do you not want to go camping anymore?"

Smith winces at the confusion in the question, the worry and twist of pain to the words. He forces himself to look up again.

Ross’ eyes mirror what he feels.

"Th- No, that’s not- I do. I want to,” Smith answers, “Honest. I...I'm glad we're spending time out here. I love it.” The kelpie swallows thickly, tries futilely to hold Ross’ gaze. ”I-I just feel like..." he trails off.

Ross waits. “Like what?” he asks gently.

Smith shrugs.

He partially expected (hoped) that things would go back to normal, once he got out of the city for a change. But things didn’t. And he shouldn’t be surprised. Smith doesn’t know what normal is for him anymore, when normal was wrong and what’s wrong is now normal. Or maybe it’s the opposite- he doesn’t know.

It’s a hard thing to accept, that the process to getting better is exactly that: a process.

It’s not something that’s going to change drastically in a matter of months. It’s not a wound that needs to heal, it’s a scar he can’t erase.

He just has to live. Whatever the fuck _that_ means, anyway.

Things aren't perfect...but they never were in the beginning.

Life isn't about perfection. He thinks it might be the imperfection that makes life exist in the first place.

Smith slowly meets Ross’ eyes again. The gargoyle knows that fact more than he does. For all these years, he can’t say for sure that Ross’ ideas didn’t rub off on him at least a little, like the ashes stuck to his thumb.

"Do I really deserve this?” Smith whispers at last, voice struggling not to crack on the words. “Am I really...”

Ross stares back at him with such warmth and love in his eyes that it makes Smith look down again.

“...good enough," he finishes quietly. He frowns.

“Smith...” Ross cups Smith’s cheek and tilts his face up again. "You’ve always been.” he says, thumb caressing his cheek. “And right now, you're doing the best that you can."

Smith squeezes his eyes shut. Ross kisses him gently, tenderly, holding him like he’s fragile.

 _So broken._ Smith’s mind whispers.

Moisture pricks at the corners of his eyes, because of the warmth of Ross’ mouth and the sincerity of his words. He wraps his arms around Ross’ shoulders, kissing him back and holding on tight.

 _Maybe._ Smith thinks. _I don’t know._

_But I’ll try to believe what you’re telling me._

_I’ll promise you, at the very least, I’ll try to._

He kisses Ross hard enough to bruise himself. Marble had never softened to perfectly match the give of human skin, even though, over time, Smith had gone a little softer himself.

Ross moves his hand into Smith’s hair. There’s one arm around his waist, holding him close.

 _I’ve got you,_ he says wordlessly, _I’m not letting go._

Ross’ tail shifts, coiling around his ankle, dangerously near the corner of the air mattress.

_Phbt! Hissssssss..._

Smith breaks the kiss and sits up, eyes wide.

“ _Fuuuuuuck no!_ ” he whispers.

He and Ross watch in horror as air leaks out of the newly-torn hole.

“Fuck!” Smith curses quietly, glancing towards the zippered door of the tent.

Ross bites his lip, struggling to muffle his giggles. “Shit, this is bad...” he breathes.

They detach their embrace and frantically try to seal it with something, but it’s no use. The air mattress slowly deflates in a matter of minutes.

Smith and Ross share a simultaneous look of "I won't tell Trott if you won't."

Smith looks towards the front of the tent again as Trott laughs at something Sips says.

“We should probably get up...” he murmurs. It doesn’t do to stick around by the evidence...

Ross shrugs and sniffs the air. “I smell breakfast,” he whispers. “If Trott asks, we’ll just say the hole was from a twig or something.”

“What hole?” Smith whispers back. He gives Ross a look and crawls towards the door. He unzips it open, groaning at the blinding sunlight as it spills through and straight into his eyes.

Ross chuckles and follows Smith out.

“Morning, sunshines,” Trott greets them from the campfire, plating a batch of scrambled eggs.

Sips salutes them both with a wave and a yawn. He gestures to the toast on the fire. “Eat up, boys. Day full of things to do, right?”

“Right-o, Sips,” Smith says. He plonks himself down in the lawn chair next to the mortal king, and sends Ross a wink.

Ross takes the plate of food Trott offers him and smiles knowingly back.

 

* * *

 

“Smith, check this out.”

Smith follows behind Trott, climbing over a rocky bit of terrain and down into a cavern in the hillside. He and Trott were farther ahead on their hike than Sips and Ross, who had wandered off behind them. Smith wasn’t worried- it’d be easy as fuck to track Ross’ footprints through the woods. Regardless, Sips knew enough not to get them completely lost, and Ross could search for Smith using their bond if need be.

Thus, the water fae are on their own, for the time being.

Smith can feel the burn in the back of his calves; the tension and ache of muscles used. It’s more walking than he’s done in months. The cave entrance opens up into a shadowy little grotto. Parts of the ceiling have caved in, and sunlight streams through the cracks in golden beams. Water pools near the bottom, collecting into a deeply carved basin, and forming a submerged spring.

“Didn’t think we’d explore a hollowed-out place like this in the woods,” Trott comments, watching his step as he moves closer.

Smith watches the light shift over Trott like the headlights of passing cars. “I’ll explore _your_ hollowed-out places,” he snarks.

Trott snorts.

Smith looks around, listening to the trickle of water through the rocks. He puts on a smirk to hide his feelings of unease.

It’s peaceful here, but it makes him think of when he was by the river, and wanted to run away from the city. He really wanted that to be an option. He wanted it to be an easy way out. But if he had...he’s not sure it would have been the reprieve he wanted.

Smith turns towards Trott, who has wandered closer to the basin. He walks up beside him, and crouches down to splash his hand through the spring water. It was a little bit colder than the river, but still pleasant.

“Nice little place for skinny dipping,” Smith mutters, standing up again.

It seems Trott was thinking the same thing, because he grins and playfully pushes Smith in.

Smith catches Trott’s wrist as he falls, and drags the selkie in with him with a great big splash. The spring is big enough and deep enough to accommodate both of them. Smith laughs as they catch their bearings underwater. The sound is muffled under the surface. He can see fine in the dark surroundings, but he can tell Trott’s squinting. If swimming in the river was something they did more often, maybe he could get him some goggles? Surely that was something Trott could make, or buy. He had gotten glasses for the surface, so there must be an option for underwater diving, right?

Smith grins at Trott and shoves him back a little, the water not bothering to resist his movement. “ _You fucking bastard!_ ” he snaps in water fae, “ _You wanted me wet, you should have said so!_ ” The language is choppy on his tongue, after all these years of never using it, but it doesn’t bother him like it should. Kelpies didn’t commonly use spoken word to lure their victims. Hard to do that when you’re a horse.

Trott’s smirk breaks into a smile. He kicks his feet every so often to keep himself afloat, and sticks his tongue out at Smith in jest. “ _Asshole_ ,” he snickers back.

Fuck, Trott always sounds so much more eloquent than he does. Ocean fae dialect is flowing and whooshy; pleasant on the ears like siren song. It’s unlike river fae, which is full of guttural and brogue-like gurgling.

Smith will never tire of how intelligent Trott always sounds, regardless of what language he speaks. He pulls Trott closer, and kisses him slowly, loving the way Trott’s arms wrap around him in the water. The body heat between them is enough to keep them from shivering. Trott slides one hand down Smith’s side and hooks it into his jeans.

Smith kisses him harder, moaning into his mouth. “Fuck, Trott...”

But a minute later Trott pulls away and pushes towards the surface. Smith watches from beneath as Trott climbs out.

Smith frowns and swims after him. When he breaks the surface, he hears Trott hacking up river water onto the rocks.

"Well that's a sexy way to kill the mood..." he mutters.

Trott flips him off over his shoulder.

Smith winces. "Fuck. Sorry, Trott..." He levers himself up out of the spring well and sits beside him.

Trott coughs harshly, rubbing his throat. "It's fine, sunshine. I knew what I was getting into." He sits down to catch his breath.

“At least it's not city water.”

“True,” Trott sighs, “I just can’t handle being under like that, unless it’s in the sea.” He turns towards Smith with a tight-lipped half-smile.

Smith tucks a lock of wet hair behind his ear. "You alright?" he asks seriously.

Trott slowly smirks. "Yeah. And I know a way you can cheer me up."

“Oh yeah?” Smith grins back.

“Mhm...” Trott scoots over to the flatter part of the stone ground, a few feet away from the edge of the basin, and unties his selkie skin from his waist. “Ugh, river water,” he grumbles, wringing his selkie skin out over the rocks before spreading it beneath them.

Smith crawls over to him. They share a warm little smile and pick up where they left off, kissing heavily. Their hands slide under wet clothes as they shed them into a dripping pile.

Trott lays back on his selkie skin Smith presses as close to him as he can get, running his hands over every inch of wet skin. The scars that the demon had left on Trott's body had all but faded, leaving behind more paper-thin white lines. The ones on Trott’s chest were the thickest, but they crisscrossed over even older scars that Trott had when Smith met him.

Old and new. Smith traces them with wet fingertips, green eyes trekking their way upward to meet Trott’s ocean blue ones. Trott pulls him into another kiss, biting at his lower lip, and Smith reaches blindly for the lube in his wet jeans.

Trott hooks his legs around Smith’s hips. Broken moans are muffled against mouths as they get lost in each other’s touch. Getting off is easy, but getting off is only part of it. Just like there is more to themselves than kelpie or selkie heritage. Smith will never admit it, but he feels most at home with Trott, and Ross and Sips, than he does anywhere else. And that fact makes the afterglow even more blissful.

Though the ground leaves much comfort to be desired, neither Trott nor Smith want to move afterwards. They can hear the chirping of birds and trickling water, and everything feels right laying in each other’s arms.

Smith kisses him with everything he can’t put to words.

In the distance, they hear Sips whistling for them, “Hey! You two done fucking yet?” he calls out.

Smith grins against Trott’s chest and laughs.

Trott smiles, eyes half lidded. He runs his fingers through Smith's wet hair. “Your hair's getting long again,” he murmurs.

"Mmm...it is," Smith hums. He smiles back at Trott with a fond look in his eyes.

“Want me to braid it?” Trott smirks.

Smith chuckles and nuzzles his face into Trott’s neck. “Later...you do that here, and I’ll fall asleep.”

“Mm...Sips and Ross are waiting for us. We should meet up with them again.” Trott sticks a lock of Smith’s hair in his ear, and Smith squirms and bats his hand away, making garbled noises.

“That’s like flies in my fucking _ear_ , mate, _why_ ,” Smith huffs with a shudder.

Trott giggles.

Smith rolls off of him, frowning momentarily at the wet clothes pile. Wet clothes are always a pain in the ass to put back on...

Trott sits up, and Smith draws him back into a kiss. They share a silent moment, not needing to say a thing.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the second day is spent splashing about in the river and sunbathing.

Everyone dogpiles on a naked Ross, all wearing technicolor sunglasses and swim trunks. Except for Sips, who elected to lounge in the hammock he brought.

Trott was currently laying atop Ross, who had his hands resting on the hemline of Trott’s red swim trunks as they kissed lazily. Sips calls Trott’s shorts his “ironic lifeguard shorts.”

“I kissed a lifeguard once, too,” so Sips said, “I kissed them and got banned from the pool all summer.”

“Yeah, well I _drowned_ a lifeguard once!” Smith boasts, throwing a pebble towards the riverside. He had whined when Trott had stopped rubbing his back, but now he was too wound up to keep still.

“Good job, Smiffy...I don’t care. Now shush while I take a nap.”

Smith huffs, scowling, while Ross snickers.

The heat of the afternoon starts to dwindle the later it gets. Smith fidgets on the blanket they spread out in the grass, rolling into one position and then another. Sips naps with one ankle dangling over the edge of the hammock, and his hat pulled down slightly to block his eyes from the sun.

Trott breaks from kissing Ross to whisper in Smith’s ear. “Twenty dollars if you go flip Sips’ hammock.”

“Deal.” Smith scampers up and does so, loudly cackling at Sips’ shout of surprise. Sips swats at Smith with the magazine he’d been reading before he took his nap, and throws it aside to chase Smith down the riverbank.

Trott and Ross watch them go, smiling to themselves.

Trott returns his attention to Ross. He caresses the smooth expanse of Ross’ chest. The marble is cold and solid underneath him. Ross’ skin is the perfect relief to the summer sun.

Ross’ glides his hands up and down Trott’s lower back, teasingly slipping his fingers under the hem of Trott’s swim trunks every time, and cupping his ass under the fabric.

Trott smirks and leans down to kiss him.

 

Sips chases Smith towards the fields, tackling him into the grass, laughing and cursing.

Smith laughs along with him, out of breath, lungs burning from the run. He’s happy, and yet he’s not. Happiness is soured by the feeling of inadequacy. He shouldn’t be feeling this way- but he is.

Everything he’s been through doesn’t change how he feels about them. But it doesn’t go away when he’s laying in their arms, either.

Sips kisses him deeply. Smith holds on tight until the mortal king breaks away.

Sips musses his hair with a hand and rolls his eyes. “Well, now we’re lost, Smiffy, look what you did.”

“We’re not _lost_ ,” Smith scoffs.

“I don’t know which way the river is…”

“I do. Follow me.”

Smith and Sips stand up and regain their bearings. They tromp through the fields and forest, back towards the riverside.

“If kelpies live in bodies of freshwater, how do you know so much about the woods?” Sips asks.

“Most of the land was wilderness, mate. You kind of have to know how to survive. The forest is as much our environment as the river is, as the city is today. You grow up under the current, for the most part, and when you get older you venture out into the world. There are other fae that live in the forests- at least there used to be. So you make treaties and associations in exchange for magic or safe passage. That’s how I learned what I did about the woods and how to live in it. My family sure as fuck didn’t teach me.”

They hike over large rocks, and Smith helps Sips climb up the side.

"How far does your family live from here?" Sips asks, dusting himself off and looking around at the small valley before them. The river is on the other side, hidden in the trees.

"My 'rents, you mean? A ways." Smith turns and points in the direction of the setting sun. "West of here, and closer to the mountains. There's a lake, with the ‘family home’ beneath it." He turns back to SIps and blinks the bright spots from his vision. “Why do you ask?”

Sips shrugs. "No reason, really. Just wondering. You don't mention it much. Trott doesn't talk about his past either, but he's described where he lived before."

Smith humphs. "It's much different from the selkie kingdom, that's for sure." He grumbles bitterly. He helps Sips as they climb back down, weaving through the trees to the riverside. Their camp’s in the distance

They sit down on a mossy log. Smith picking stones out of the ground moss and flicks them into the river. "I haven't been back in a long time. Not since I was young- not much older than a colt, I’d say. Well-” he sighs, “young yet by kelpie standards. I went back once before we crowned you. Haven’t gone there since."

"Why did you leave the lake in the beginning?" Sips asks.

Smith stares out at the ripples in the water. "Kelpies are normally solitary creatures. We have to be- we're territorial, and more than one kelpie in one location puts us at risk."

“So you had to leave your family, too?” The question is hushed, loaded with a lonely atmosphere.

Smith glances sideways at Sips, who stares out at the river instead.

"It’s...we don't have family units like selkies or humans do. Like, there isn't really a concept of parents so much as the kelpie or kelpies who birthed and raised you. We're shapeshifters, so gender and sex aren't in definite categories.

"But when you're a colt, you strike out on your own once you're old enough to know how to charm. You start to patrol your territory, and you travel a lot. Get the feel of how humans notice things, how they're different, how trusting they are of wild horses. Obviously the way I hunt changed with the rise of the city, but that's not what happens to every kelpie."

“Does your territory consist of only the river?”

Smith nods. “My hunting grounds stretch from the river’s mouth South of here- where it dumps out East of the city and North of the beach- to the fork in the river up in the mountains. The lake and the other rivers that come from it aren’t mine to control.”

“And other kelpies- do they hunt like you do, now that there are cities?”

“No. Not every kelpie hunts the same. Each has their own way of doing things, but we all have charm magic that ends in drowning. The river or whatever body of water we’re tied to is a conduit for it."

Sips is quiet for a time.

The breeze carries Trott’s laugh down the river, and Smith smiles.

“Why...did you leave, Smith?” Sips asks slowly. He seems pensive about something. His eyes are farther away than the river just in front of them.

Smith hums, considering. He scuffs his foot in the dirt. "I didn't leave for a specific reason, not like Trott or Ross, but there wasn't anything tying me to the place. Our 'family home' is more of a...meeting ground. Occasionally the greater kelpies call a council, but the meetings aren't required to attend."

"If you don't have family units, what's the council for?"

"Hierarchy, dividing territory, assessing our numbers. Betrothal, mating, that kind of thing."

"Like a pack meeting."

"Kind of."

"If kelpies are so hard to pin down, how are there betrothals?"

"The Elders suggest pairings based on compatibility, but no one's forced into anything."

"Would you have been paired up with someone?"

Smith chuckles. "Probably not. I was too much of a wild card even back then, and I'm not important territorially, hierarchically, or genetically. My ‘parents’ weren't either. The meetings are called every third of a century or so, anyway, and no one's going to want to share my polluted city river."

"No kelpie orgies then?"

Smith grins. "No. Like I said, Sips, the most of us are solitary. Rival kelpies stay clear of each other. There was never another kelpie I was matched with. I never had someone like me that wasn't just another kill."

"Until Trott."

Smith smiles and echoes Sips' words. "Until Trott. I didn’t have a home until I found Trott. I didn’t have a reason to stay. If you asked me decades ago if I thought this is where I’d end up, I’d laugh in your face. But the land has changed since then.”

“You’re not the same person.” Sips says after a moment. “Nothing truly stays the same, over time.”

“I’m not the same kelpie.” Smith agrees shyly. He looks over at Sips next to him, and the setting sunlight catches the gold thread on his crown. “So, what about you, Sips?” he wonders aloud, “You don’t usually ask about this shit, or talk about it. Feeling homesick?”

Sips snorts bitterly. “No. Home isn’t where I’m from anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time.”

“Did you leave your parents behind? Siblings?” Smith pauses. “An illicit love child or two?”

Sips chuckles and finally breaks a small smile. “No, I don’t have any kids. But everyone has people they left behind, Smith. And everyone has people that left them behind.”

“Why’d _you_ leave home?” Smith asks tentatively.

Sips doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “About the same reason you did. Wasn’t anything for me there.”

There’s a tightness in his voice, but Smith doesn’t push.

The mortal king clears his throat and continues. “I wanted things out of my life, so I left for greener pastures. I came to the city, and I built myself success.”

“Were you happy with it?”

Sips scoffs. “Before I met you? Fuck no. I was miserable.” His frown morphs slowly into a wistful smile. “But sometimes good things come out of the worst mistakes. You just can’t tell what the outcome is going to be. You can’t see that far ahead, to see where life takes you.”

Smith hums and thinks on it for a moment. He still doesn’t know what possessed him to choose Sips from the crowd that night. But he’s right.

Sips continues on. “You know, Smith...

“Sometimes you make choices that end up hurting those you love, even when you’re choosing what’s best for you. But you live with it. You grow as a person; you move on.”

His grey eyes watch the last of the clouds drift by. Smith looks across Sips’ grizzled jawline, his wrinkles, the tiny birthmark on his forehead. The river continues rushing same as it always has.

“People come and go in life,” Sips says quietly. “Doesn’t mean they meant any less to you, during the time you shared. Doesn’t make what they did okay, either, and it sure as hell doesn’t make it hurt any less. It’s hard. It’s a hard thing to go through, again and again.”

Smith nods. He thinks about his wandering tendencies. He never thought about it from the other side of things...until he had people who would miss him if he left. “I can imagine,” he answers.

“Who knows why that’s the way it is.” Sips sighs heavily. “Just something people do, I guess.”

“Leave?”

Sips shrugs. “Yeah...sometimes.”

They sit together for a little longer, listening to nature, staring up at the clouds side by side.

“Sips?”

“Hm.”

“What would have happened if I left?”

Sips looks at him with a sharp, worried expression. Smith picks moss off the log they’re sitting on and doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I’m not going to,” he amends, “But if I did...what would have happened? If I left the city, I mean.”

Sips takes a shaky inhale. “Well, Trott would have been furious with guilt, for one. Ross would have felt conflicted over wanting to go after you and wanting to wait for you to come back.” Sips looks away. “I probably would have tried to track you down myself.”

Smith frowns. Sips would get off his ass just to look for him? “How come?”

“Because I’m not going to let somebody else-” The barked comment cuts off, and Sips vehemently swears.

Smith stiffens. He glances over at Sips.

Sips has his eyes shut and takes a slow breath.

“Because you’re a part of this court, Smith. You’re a part of _my_ court.” Sips opens his eyes again, solemn. “You don’t belong in the past, you belong with us.”

“I don’t know what to say to that...”  Smith sighs, taken aback. He runs a hand through his hair.

“Whatever place you had, Smith...it’s not important anymore. Whatever you used to be, it doesn’t matter to us. We’ve all left parts of ourselves behind. We’ve all got things that haunt us.” Sips frowns at the river and doesn’t meet Smith’s eyes. “If there’s anything I’ve learned in life, is that it’s okay to struggle with that. That’s what recovery is- struggling. Keeping your head above the surface, and waiting for the water to drain.”

Smith doesn’t know what to say. Sips falls silent. They sit there a little longer, but eventually, Ross calls after them. Lost in their own thoughts, the two of them silently walk back to camp.

 

* * *

 

Smith kicks at some brush, occasionally staring in the direction of the city, grinding his teeth and frowning. There's a faraway look in his eyes.

Trott knows, without asking, what it is. He stands up from the chair by the fire and stands beside him, watching the river rush over the rocks.

The lines of Smith’s shoulders are tight and full of tension.

“I don't want to go back…” he sighs loud enough for only Trott to overhear, “but I have to.”

Trott wants to tell him he doesn’t have to, but he know that isn’t true. He takes Smith's hands and puts them on his waist, and once he knows he's got the kelpie's attention, leans in close to kiss him.

“Don't worry about that now,” he wants to tell him. But he knows from experience it's a moot point.

Trott pulls him away from the river and back into the light cast from their campfire.

"Dance with me,” he says with a smile.

So they do, palm to palm, with their fingers intertwined.

Smith kisses Trott knuckles. He’s fought with him and fought beside him. He feels different and yet the same about Trott as he has in the past. He feels more strongly than he ever thought he could.

The moon shines down between the gaps in the trees. The city calls to him, and a part of him wants to run. He wants to run from them until he’s nothing but forgotten, until his hooves meet dirt and podzol again and nothing matters except the stars above him. The only constant was the river, back then.

But not now.

There’s nothing constant about the city.

It’s pulling him, calling to him, and they’ll return in the morning. Despite the way he and Trott sway back and forth, like this is the only movement they need, that’s an inevitability he has to face.

Smith has to go back.

But in the quiet of the night he knows his court is with him.

He doesn’t know if that will be enough, but maybe. Maybe it will be. If he’s lucky.

 _I don’t know if I believe in luck, but you give me a reason to,_ he thinks, _because I’m lucky to have met you._

He kisses Trott slowly, turning silently, shuffling feet. There’s no music, but in his head he hears a song he’s heard only once, a tune hummed for him beneath a summer moon. The crickets and the river make up for it. There’s the sound of an owl hooting in the distance.

Sips and Ross watch from the blanket several feet from the fire pit as Smith and Trott slow dance together. They eat the last of the marshmallows. What was once a chaste and loving kiss between the two has very quickly morphed into making out.

“Should throw something at those two lovebirds over there.” Sips mutters, jerking his head in their direction.

Ross snorts. “Rice.”

Sips laughs back, finishing the rest of his beer. “Hey, water fucks,” he yells, “Get a room!”

Ross shakes his head as the two water fae simultaneously flip Sips off. They’re making out more than actually dancing anymore.

Fireflies flicker in the night, and Smith kisses Trott deeply by the riverside. Their hands roam across each other’s skin, and their clothes are slowly shed to the forest floor.

Ross licks his lips. “Looks like we’re getting a show,” he murmurs to Sips.

“Maybe, maybe not. Audience participation might be involved.”

At that comment, Trott pulls away from Smith, and they both cross the distance towards Ross and Sips.

Trott digs through a backpack by the tent, and tosses a giant bottle of lube towards Sips and Ross on the blanket.

“Jeeze, Trott, how much outdoor sex were you planning on having? Fucking boy scout,” Sips comments.

Trott gives him a mock salute. He straddles Sips’ lap, kissing him and scratching down his chest. Sips sheds his clothes, hearing the sounds of Ross and Smith groping at each other. Ross is already clothes-less.

“Fuck, Ross...” Smith sighs, tilting his head back. Ross kisses his neck and chest while his hand moves languidly up and down Smith’s dick.

Trott moves to the side of Sips and they both look up at them.

“Hey Smiffy. Fancy another ride?” Sips asks, brushing Smith’s arm as he and Ross crash onto the ground.

“Hell-fucking _yes_.” Smith parts from Ross for a moment and descends upon Sips, kissing fervently.

 

* * *

 

They head home on the third day, after Smith goes for one last early morning run through the forest in horse form.

Trott listens to Smith crash through the woods while he packs.

Sips complains about his aching back and ass and neck and- “Fucking hell, that’s the last time I go camping with you three.”

“Aw, but Sips! It was so much fun!” Ross protests.

“Warn me, next time, and then I’ll plan accordingly for the outdoor orgy.”

“More like a backdoor orgy,” mutters Trott.

“Ooh, filthy!”

“As romantic as sleeping on a blanket under the stars is, I would have preferred the deluxe air mattress I planned on using,” Sips continues to grumble, “But _no_ , we got to sleep on the ground, because _somebody_ punctured a hole in the mattress.”

Ross gives him a sheepish look. “Sorry…”

Sips sighs. “Look, next time, we’re renting a campervan. _Fuck_ sleeping on the ground.”

“I didn’t have any problems, I slept like a rock!”

“You _are_ a rock, Ross! If you want to sleep on a miniature mountain, that’s your prerogative.”

Trott shakes his head at their conversation. Sips was very cranky if he slept terribly. Trott will be surprised if he doesn’t snore on their way back.

Smith canters forward out of the treeline, swishing his tail behind him. His ear twitches. Trott blinks, and Smith shifts to his human form again in the middle of the river. He roughly splashes water on himself to get the dirt off, and strides out, dripping wet and naked, with his keys clutched in his palm. He grins at Trott, who smiles wryly and hands him his clothes back.

“Have a nice run?” Trott asks.

Smith nods. He kisses Trott gently and tugs on his pants. “I did.”

“That’s good, sunshine.”

“Mmm…” Smith nuzzles the side of his face, stubble scratchy on Trott’s skin. “Thank you,” he whispers, so quietly Trott’s almost sure he misheard. But Smith smiles shyly, and kisses his cheek. He moves past him towards Ross and Sips, putting his shirt on and whistling jovially.

Trott shakes his head fondly. He looks at the river with his own memories, and zips their backpacks shut.

They hike back to the car, which is magically hidden from sight until until Smith removes the branches. Sips whistles in surprise, and Smith poses, batting his eyelashes and doing a Vanna White impression. Trott takes one last look around at the forest, the trees, the way there’s endless stretches of blue sky. They pack up, and leave for the city.

 

“Ross, pass me the ketchup, would you? Thanks.”

The garbage court sit huddled around a booth, in an all-you-can-eat breakfast diner on the way back to the city. It was one of those blink-and-you’ll-miss-it buildings. Tucked off the interstate, it was a squat little converted ranch house, and according to Sips, it used to be fancier, until newer management changed up it’s strange Southern charm into a fifties diner atmosphere. It served brunch, and diner-food favorites, and “the best damned Eggs Benjamin this side of the Canadian border.” It also had Real Maple Syrup, so it was, in the mind of the king of misrule, The Best Brunch Place.

Sips shakes the ketchup and aims at his plate, but the bottle responds by blowing raspberries.

“Ugh, Sips...” Trott scoffs, “We’re in public...”

“Gross!” Ross exclaims.

Smith groans, “Sips, you’re _disgusting_.”

Sips rolls his eyes. “I’m _sorry_. I have a _problem_ , okay? Don’t judge me.” He sighs mockingly and frowns down at the bottle. “Fucking, _ketchup_ , man, why do you always do this to me...” he mutters under his breath, smacking the end of the bottle with the palm of his hand, and mock sobbing.

Smith snickers quietly. He looks across the table at Trott as the selkie steals his milkshake. Trott smirks, and Smith smiles back, eyes shining. He can feel Ross’ tail around his ankle. Sips’ arm is over his shoulders, a pleasant weight that grounds him, even as they return to the uncertainty of the city.

Smith smiles and snatches another fry off of Sips’ plate.

**Author's Note:**

> Like always, if you have any questions, I'm more than happy to answer. Let me know what you think, what you liked, and what you want to see more of. It helps motivate me to keep doing this. As much as I love the story and the characters, reader-writer interaction does drive us to keep creating. I don't know if I would have got this far if it wasn't for all of you. So thanks for all your support- it means a lot to me.  
> -Ghost
> 
> the park that the "giant drainage pipe" place was inspired by:  
> https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/08/29/what-i-think-of-when-i-think-of-camping
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/125042909680  
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/139844045872/jaded-mandarin-josef-thoma-waterfall-near  
> *hiking  
> http://internal-acceptance-movement.tumblr.com/post/145157864504  
> *camping  
> http://sail-home-again.tumblr.com/post/129685486794  
> *Smith's feet in the river  
> http://exotichobbies.tumblr.com/post/92466168754/mission-reservoir-mt  
> *Smith's home lake  
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/143573822888/danielodowd-corigold  
> *Smith's lake home  
> http://melodyandviolence.tumblr.com/post/135393828949/by-fursty  
> *camping/Smith’s home lake  
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/143571130594  
> *going home


End file.
